On the End of the Affair
by babygray
Summary: AU Squall Leonhart, some twobit detective in Esthar, is asked to find some bird's missing husband. Unfortunately, the pretty doll is a Sorceress, and when pretty women are involved, trouble is not far behind. Slash, plot holes, and other things.
1. The Visit

One night, while thinking about titles to stories I will never write, I thought of perhaps writing something called 'Squall Leonhart: Sexual Predator', which would have been a fun, sex-crazed detective story romp into Squall's inability to live up to his name. Fortunately, or perhaps not so, this idea involved into something completely different.

_Title_: On the End of the Affair  
_Author_: Ileana A. (babygray)   
_(Eventual) Main Pairing_: Squall/Zell  
_Current Pairing(s)_: Rinoa/Unknown  
_Disclaimer_: Final Fantasy VIII is not mine. This is pure jest.  
_Warnings_: AU, bad hard-boiled detective storytelling, typos, _very_ rough and plot holes.  
_Notes_: Um... I have some idea as to where this story is going, but that may be a lie. In either case, please enjoy!

----------

--The Visit--

Esthar at night was no different from day, at least not on the surface. Its streets were clean and silver, and its buildings were pearlized fragments of light that seem no more substantial than a soap bubble. The sky glows with a blue haze at night, and I doubt I've seen a single star here in years.

Under the surface was just unchanging, for as the top glowed with its richness and its smooth curves of opulence no matter the hour, the lower levels barely shifted in their grime-covered trappings. It was always dark down here, in more ways than the merely luminescent. There were shadows of the hard, blood-thirsty kind down here, and visitors knew better than to travel through Esthar's forgotten walkways at night, or at least what passed for night in the capital city.

So when she walked through my door that night, I knew trouble came with her and was about to be forced into my quiet, uninteresting life.

She had the soft, cultured looks of a pampered child on her face and hands, giving her up straight away as a stranger to the dark underbelly of the capital. She was dressed for the part she needed to play to survive down here, I noted immediately. The outfit she wore was durable, made out of a heavy leather, possibly some expensive dragonhide, and there was a polished Blaster Edge casually strapped to her left wrist. The clothes conveyed strength and ability, and the weapon a bit of an alert air, but the leather looked too new, and I wouldn't be surprised if that Blaster Edge had never tasted blood.

She was a child at play, and a rich one at that, and I was starting to regret even coming into my office today.

"Are you Squall Leonhart?" she asked as the door closes behind her. She sounded nervous, but I wouldn't be surprised if that was a front, a trick to get my sympathies.

"Perhaps," I answered as I lit a thin, slightly crushed cigarette. I had forgotten to send my assistant out for a new pack that day, and the girl was long-gone now. She was a tough bird, but even she knew that underways were not safe and avoided staying late down here if she could help it.

"Can you help me?" the doll said, standing right in front of my desk now, her hair a black hole, as black as night even as she stood under the glare of the office's overhead lighting. There was a streak of warmth here and there, but the black was dominant, threatening to suck me in.

"Perhaps," I replied, expelling a breath of cigarette smoke into the room.

There was a frown on her face at my response. Pretty dolls like her no doubt loved getting their own way and with little trouble. Pretty dolls like her no doubt get themselves and everyone around them into more trouble than they were worth. "My husband's missing."

I didn't respond to her words as I leaned casually into my second-hand office chair. Encouraging dolls like her just make the trouble they brought even more of a headache, in my book.

"He has this habit of disappearing every once in a while," the doll continued, undisturbed by my lack of concern, apparently. "But he's been gone for six months now, and I'm starting to get worried," she said with a bit of a sniffle. "I mean, what if he's hurt somewhere, or..." Her light voice petered out into a whisper at the end, a flattering, but rather out-of-character gloom settling over her features. Another sympathy play, I was certain.

"Sure he didn't just leave you, Mrs..." I said, my voice trailing off. There was a coldness to my words that should have made her flinch, but dolls like her are rather oblivious in their way.

"Actually, it's Ms.," she corrected me, as if I cared. "Ms. Heartilly."

As her name quickly registered in my memory, I felt a hard, cold lump where my stomach used to be. I smoked some more of my cigarette, wondering if any of that cold recognition appeared on my face or in my motions. I would like to think not, but the pretty doll no doubt was looking for any sort of confirmation of how much of a surprise her name was to me.

"Have you heard of me?" she asked after a moment, a stray smile of amusement hovering just above her lips.

"Should I have?" I asked, even as my mind stayed reeling at the sudden rearangement of facts. Not only was this woman some pretty bird that like playing parts and bringing trouble, she was also a Galbanian, and quite far from home. And not just any Galbanian, no, but the heir apparent to the current High Sorceress of that god-forsaken country, the aging Sorceress Edea.

Whether or not I had anything against the women was beyond the point. A Galbanian Sorceress prancing through the darkness of Esthar just to seek me out was not good news.

I started to regret anew not leaving the office early with my assistant and her ridiculous boyfriend.


	2. Darts

"Make the mayor a dartboard..."

_Title_: On the End of the Affair  
_Author_: Ileana A. (babygray)  
_(Eventual) Main Pairing_: Squall/Zell  
_Current Pairing(s)_: Rinoa/'Seymour',　Selphie/Unknown  
_Disclaimer_: Final Fantasy VIII is not mine. This is pure jest.  
_Warnings_: AU, bad hard-boiled detective storytelling, typos, _very_ rough and plot holes.  
_Notes_: Um... I have some idea as to where this story is going, but that may be a lie. In either case, please enjoy!

----------

--Darts--

If Selphie was anything, she was efficient. It took her all of five minutes to take the photograph, copy it, blow it up, and present me with a crisp close-up of our target. It took her even less time to tack up a blown-up copy of the Sorceress Heartilly's face onto the wall across from her worktable and use it for target practice.

"I'm not complaining," she said as she threw another dart at the Sorceress' face, missing the sorceress's photographed arm by half a millimeter, "but damnit, why, Squall! Why did you say yes?"

"We need the money," I said as I got myself another cup of coffee, and it was true. Jobs have been few and far between those days. The last job we had was last month, and the take was quite pitiful. "And she's paying three times the normal rate plus expenses just to find this truant husband of hers."

Selphie huffed as she threw another dart. "Bet she didn't fuss about the price either." Like the one before, it missed the 'bulls' eye' and landed just below the breast.

----------

"My husband's name is Seymour Croft," the doll said as she laid a small photograph on the desk in front of me. "He grew up in Deling City, like I did, and we first met through my father."

I glanced at the photograph before me, taking another slow drag from my cigarette. I was almost quite proud of myself for keeping my cool. Having the sorceress settle her lithe, leather-clad frame into the beaten-up chair on the other side of my desk wasn't necessarily something I expected that night. I hoped my cigarette was up to it.

She continued. "It was actually quite romantic. It was the night of the annual presidential ball, which always takes place in the spring, in case you didn't know. He looked so elegant and refined-"

"Ms. Heartilly," I said, stopping her. I certainly did not need to hear about what either of them were wearing that night. "The two of you met through your father?"

Perhaps it was the mention of her father that sobered the romantic glimmer in her brown eyes. "Yes," she said, more businesslike than before. "He worked for my father, General Caraway, concerning some military issue or another. I never really cared to learn what," she added with a wave of her hand. "He told me that Seymour was actually interesting in the tradition of Knights and he thought perhaps that I would be interested in talking to him."

I raised my eyebrow at the information.

"I learned that winter that I was a Sorceress myself," she added, perhaps hearing the unasked question.

I realized with some dismay that my cigarette was probably not going to last the whole of the doll's story. I'd probably have to make do with some liquor later.

"He became my Knight that night," she continued, running her right hand through her dark hair. There was a soft smile on her lips that conveyed much more happened than a simple agreement between the two of them. Something dark and wet that filled her with romantic illusions and cruder things. "We were married that winter."

"And he hasn't left your side since then," I continued for her with cool disinterest. Not that I believed for one second that the man in the photograph was one that willingly stayed at home for long periods of time. There was a spark of restlessness in his eyes that told me so.

"Not... really," she reluctantly answered. "He was always busy with work for my father, so he was only with me some of the time."

"But since you never really cared for his work, it didn't bother you, did it?" My cigarette was dangerously getting shorter by the moment. I wondered if there was a spare pack in my desk drawer, waiting for such an emergency.

"It's not that I don't care about where my husband is, Mr. Leonhart," she replied, feeling insulted, I presumed. "It's just the way it was. He would go off for a few days, but he would always be back. It's just that, this time..." There were tears in her eyes now as her voice began to break apart. The little flecks of diamond emotion just on the edge of her lashes were catching the dim light. Any minute now, they would fall and I would appear cold and heartless for letting the doll cry her eyes out for her missing Knight right in front of me. Or a soft mark, for handing her a tissue and saying sweet nothings to calm her down.

I took a swift, achingly brief drag as I watched those first diamonds fall.

"Please," she sobbed, her voice cracking with pleading. "Please find him for me, Mr. Leonhart. You're my only hope."

----------

"Her 'only hope', my ass!" Selphie swore as she threw her third and final dart at the sorceress's photograph. "As if there aren't any private eyes in fucking Deling City."

"She didn't say as much, but something tells me she wants this kept hush-hush," I said as I went to retrieve the darts. Anger and frustration made Selphie a better aim; that last one landed in the space just above the doll's head.

"Bet he came to his senses and left her," she said, glowering at the small puncture wounds she had made in the photograph so far. None has gotten close to the center, though one managed to stab the woman in the eye.

"Perhaps," I replied as I handed the darts back to her. Moving away from range, I picked up the original portrait the Sorceress Heartilly had left for us from off of Selphie's worktable. It was a publicity photo, I was certain, with the emblem of the Galbanian Republic emblazoned on a tapestry in the background.

Sitting in the foreground, was the Sorceress Heartilly, dressed in an elaborate, overly-embroidered lavender gown. Her face was painted into a mysterious, glyphic thing, her eyes pure darkness and her lips shadows resting on the white field of her powdered skin. Even in her official role, she loved to play the part, with her plumed head held high, confident that the lighting caught the silver tips of the feathers, and the shine of her hair. She was also no more adept at playing a powerful witch than she was playing the roughened traveler last night. Pretty dolls like her never seem to have much range outside of 'cute'.

Behind her stood Seymour, and while his wife seemed to have been playing a role, he looked confident and in his natural element. Dressed in military dress, though not a Galbanian uniform, he seemed to shine with undiluted arrogance. His blonde head was high as well, and there was a faint smirk that barely passed for a smile on his lips. His pale eyes were cold and narrowed, restless and self-aware.

Laying the darts beside her keyboard, Selphie turned back to her monitor and grumbled in disgust. "Probably found someone new and never even told her." She sifted through the results of the general search she left running when she was throwing her darts, her eyes now seeking out the person we needed. "And now that good-for-nothing witch has to come and bother _us_."

"It would make things easier, refusing her, but then we wouldn't eat. And you're skinny enough as it is."

Selphie hmph'ed at the tease, her eyes on her monitor. I laid the photograph back down and searched the inside pocket of my jacket for another cigarette.

"Just don't want for work for some stupid Galbanian Sorceress that can't keep her eyes on her own husband."

Indeed. But we all had to earn our bread somehow. Finding the pack, I took one out and lit it quickly, taking a long drag along the way. I hated the fact that we were now working for the Galbanian witch as well, though Selphie would most likely argue she hated it more. If we had a choice... Nevermind. It's easier not to think in those terms. Made the job easier.

"We're heading out to Deling City tomorrow, sniff out some information there," I said as I pocketed the lighter and the pack.

"Good. 'Cause I can't find anything on this guy from the usual databases." She lifted her eyes from the screen and looked at me. "You did get three tickets, right?"

I didn't bother to answer her as I took one of the darts and lazily threw it at the sorceress tacked on the wall.

Bull's eye.


	3. Dime Novel

Sometimes detective work isn't as complicated as dime novels make it out to be. At least, according to _Kiss Kiss Bang Bang_.

_Title_: On the End of the Affair  
_Author_: Ileana A. (babygray)  
_(Eventual) Main Pairing_: Squall/Zell  
_Current Pairing(s)_: Rinoa/'Seymour',　Selphie/Irvine  
_Disclaimer_: Final Fantasy VIII is not mine. This is pure jest.  
_Warnings_: AU, bad hard-boiled detective storytelling, typos, _very_ rough and plot holes.  
_Notes_: Um... I have some idea as to where this story is going, but that may be a lie. In either case, please enjoy!

----------

--Dime Novel--

Selphie stared wide-eyed at the dart now piercing the sorceress's portrait, protruding from the exact center of the woman's powered forehead. She walked around her worktable and edged closer to the makeshift dartboard, tilting her head to the side. The ends of her short, reddish hair were flipped out that day, a bouncy counterpoint to the dark-blue suit she wore when she worked. Her slim, child-like body leaned forwards as she literally tip-toed towards it. "No way," she breathed.

I shrugged my shoulders. It was nothing more than a fluke, for apparently, luck was on my side that morning.

"That's not fair," the little bird pouted at me, her fists at her waist. "I try and try, and the closest I get is her eyeball!"

"What's this I hear about eyeballs?"

At the door stood Irvine Kinneas, all six feet of him. Casually, he made his way into the room. He was a cowboy, a man more suited for the prairies of Galbania than the glowing metropolis of Esthar, with a brown duster and a shotgun hidden by its folds. On the surface, there was very little to commemorate him on, not his casual self-preservation, his persistent flirting, or that purple vest he wore. But he could be downright surgical with that shotgun of his, and Selphie liked him, so I had to deal with him as well.

"A Sorceress hired Squall," Selphie said dejectedly as she pulled out the dart I had thrown from the woman's head. It left a tiny, perfect little hole in the dead center of the woman's powdered brow.

"That isn't that bad," Irvine said, putting his hands in his pockets as he nudged the door closed with his booted foot. "I mean, Squall's sister is quite the lady."

"Not my sister, Irvine. A Galbanian. Rinoa Heartilly." I pointed to the dartboard with my cigarette.

"A _Galbanian_ sorceress?" Irvine gaped as he looked between the witch's portrait and the little bird with the dart in her hands. "Are you okay with this Selphie?"

Selphie huffed as her fingers played with the pointed end of the dart.

"We need the money," I answered for her. "And you haven't published a new story in a while. Maybe you could use the inspiration."

"Just like you could use the royalties?" Irvine shot back, a smirk on his face. Well, that was another reason I kept him around. On the off-occasion the man wasn't blatantly hunting for women or shooting Toramas out on the more desolate parts of the Estharian wastes, he wrote dime-novel mysteries about an amateur detective named Strife, mysteries that always seem a little too similar to cases he had seen me do.

"Keeps me feed," I answered.

"What does she need you for?"

"Missing husband," I answered back.

"Bet she's a looker without all that stuff on her face."

Selphie was clutching that dart a little too tightly at that last statement.

"What does her husband look like?" he continued. I nodded to the original on Selphie's worktable, the glossy publicity shot the sorceress left with me.

He lifted up the glossy portrait, his fingers exposed in the black gloves he wore. He glanced at it. Then his forehead scrunched up for a moment before relaxing into a look of slack-jawed surprise.

"I don't believe this. I know this guy!"

"What?" Selphie said, bouncing to see over the tall man's arm.

"I know this guy. The hell he's doing with a sorceress for, the jackass." He slapped the photo with the back of his hand. "I mean, he told me he got married a few years back, but he never told me the chick was a sorceress!"

He swore again, something strong and nasty. "Seifer Almasy, what the fuck did you get yourself into!"

----

_Note_: Not much of a surprise, was it? Hope you enjoyed. :)


	4. On the Hush Hush

This chapter: either Squall meets his future in-law, or Selphie hijacks a plane. Place bets now!

_Title_: On the End of the Affair  
_Author_: Ileana A. (babygray)  
_(Eventual) Main Pairing_: Squall/Zell  
_Current Pairing(s)_: Rinoa/Seifer,　Selphie/Irvine  
_Disclaimer_: Final Fantasy VIII is not mine. This is pure jest.  
_Warnings_: AU, bad hard-boiled detective storytelling, typos, slash, het, _very_ rough and plot holes.  
_Notes_: Um... I have some idea as to where this story is going, but that may be a lie. _Also_, the names for places I mentioned here, I found in the FF8 Ultimania, which is in Japanese. This is a bit of a problem (maybe) because the Japanese names don't always match the English translations, but that doesn't matter, right? Right? In either case, please enjoy!

----------

--On the Hush-Hush--

This was trouble.

The moment that name came out of Kinneas's lips, I knew I was in trouble, more so than if this thing I agreed to continued being a straight-forward case of a runaway husband. No, if Kinneas was right, and this Seymour Croft was really his childhood friend, Seifer Almasy, then Hyde only knew what else was lying in wait for me.

It wasn't the fact that he had married Ms. Heartilly under an assumed name. Things like that happened, and it was always a sign of a very bad past. What troubled me was how familiar the name sounded to me. For most of my life, my mind was quite a minefield of lost memories; I sometimes amaze myself with what I do remember. It's not rare for me to forget people and things that were trivial and unnecessary, not that they ever seem a lost to me.

But there were moments where the lack of firm memories make me feel uneasy. There were moments were I felt as if I should know something and I should have remembered someone, despite the effects of housing a guardian force inside my head. I felt it when I first met Selphie, when she was an enlisted in the Trabian military. I felt it when I first met Kinneas, wrist-deep in ladies and my only source concerning a skittish gunner he was acquainted with.

And I felt a small prick of that feeling at the sound of the man's name. That feeling only grew as I took one more drag before we board the plane to Deling City and I laid eyes on Kinneas's photograph of his friend Almasy.

The arrogance, the willful pride, everything I noticed about Seymour Croft was there. But there was something different about this version of the blond man as he posed for the camera, standing aloof with his feet apart and his arms crossed loosely, unconcerned in the least by the large, dark-skinned man to his left, who was grinning like a fool, or by Kinneas on his right, who was tilting his hat back casually. One would be his clothing, consisting of a vest, trousers, and a grey coat with a red, stylized cross on the sleeves, a far cry from the military cut he wore for his Sorceress wife. Another would be the weapon peeking from underneath the folds of his coat. A gunblade, Kinneas said when I had asked what the glint of steel meant.

The third difference, a scar that ran across his brow and over the bridge of his nose, was the one that made the feelings of deja vu vibrate through me. Either through the magic of photo-manipulation or make-up, it wasn't in his official portrait with the woman he had wed under a different name. But seeing it now, slashed across his face, I had that feeling that I should know this arrogant friend of Kinneas's.

Worse, I had the feeling that I should know exactly how that scar was made. Especially since it was the mirror image of the one I wore.

-----

I have never arrived at Deling City during the day. By plane or by train, it was always night when I arrived; the city itself knew it looked its most stunning in its evening wear. The streets were lit with amber and searchlights flared in the sky, beckoning the eyes to adventure and excitement.

Kinneas, who had grown up not far from the capital in a town on the Monterosa Plain, practically began to ruffle with excitement like a young chocobo before its first race. Selphie, too, despite being in what she used to term venomously as 'enemy territory', was literally bouncing in her seat with the thought of exploring the city anew. Travel always bought her more over-eager side to the fore.

We took a local bus from the airport into the city that night we landed, and made our way to the hotel we were to stay in, a posh thing in the center of the city that we wouldn't have been able to afford in the financial state we were in. Only on the Sorceress's gil were we able to get into the city, as well as have a place to sleep the jetlag off.

It seemed that someone other than the sorceress was certain we were coming. By the front counter of the hotel, standing unnaturally idle next to the stairs that lead down to the hotel bar, were two men. Not even the casual suits the men were wearing could hide their stench.

They were military; feeling Selphie tense at my side only confirmed it.

The taller of the two approached first, his dark brown hair slicked back and neat. An afternoon shadow darkened his chin but the mustache he wore was well trimmed and clean. His companion, a pale, dark-haired boy with a large nose and sharp eyes, hung back to the side, his hand comfortably near his holster.

"Mind if you come down for a drink with us?" the mustached man said with a friendly expression in his hard, lined face. "We have someone waiting that wishes to speak to you."

"Well, how considerate that you're asking so politely," Kinneas said as his body relaxed dangerously. No sooner had we left the plane had he strapped that cannon of a shotgun to his side. It wouldn't be smart for him to be waving it around, particularly at Galbanian military. I held him back with a tilt of my head.

"Lead the way."

The brown-haired man's smile grew to self-satisfying levels as the black-haired boy led the way down. With Selphie immediately behind me and Kinneas taking the rear, we followed them into the hotel bar.

The place, as always, was intimate and dark. Soft lights illuminated the corners and framed the small stage. The piano stood unmanned there, a quiet, forgotten creature with no voice and lost ambition. Sheer, cool fabrics hung from the ceiling and at each table was a small lamp, ready to light the blushing faces of shy lovers. It was a romantic place, and in the center table, surrounded by flirting couples and relaxing businessmen, was a stiff-haired general, still in his uniform, nursing a scotch.

The man stood as we approached. His lackeys, having done their job for the night, disappeared towards the bar, though I could still feel their eyes on us.

"Mr. Leonhart, my name is Fury Caraway. I believe my daughter has asked you to do something for her?" He signaled for us to sit down, waving a hand over the three empty chairs at his table.

Kinneas flashed a grin at the gesture and laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Well, while you two talk business, me and my baby doll are going for a drink." He leaned close to Selphie, his hat covering both of their eyes as he did so. "Come on, sweetie and let's leave them to their work."

Selphie, glaring at the general with the kind of hate she reserved for Sorceresses, was lead away with Kinneas's steady hand on the small of her back. I didn't expect them to go too far.

I took the seat opposite the general sat down as well, placing my sole piece of luggage at my feet. "Your associates?" the general asked, even if it was most likely in his business to know exactly who they were. When he realized that I wasn't going to answer that question any time soon, he gave me a complacent sort of smile and waved over a waitress. "Thirsty for anything in particular?"

"... whatever."

The general's smile wavered for a moment at the word. "I need to ask for your discretion when it comes to my daughter's case, Mr. Leonhart," he said as the waitress approached. At her, he pointed to his half-empty glass of scotch and said, "Two more please."

"Any particular reason why?" I fished out my pack of cigarettes before I even noticed they were in my hands. Guess I needed a smoke.

The general scowled, whether at my words or at my cigarettes, I wasn't all that inclined to find out. "In case you haven't noticed, Mr. Leonhart, my daughter is not your average girl. Not by a long shot. If the public begins to learn that she is without her Knight, then certain people may decide to take advantage of the situation." He spoke in a low voice, mindful of the strangers around us. He stared at me with his hard flint eyes. "Do you know what a Knight's role is?"

I lit my cigarette and took a relaxing drag.

"A Knight is more than some man that stands by and keeps his Sorceress protected. A Sorceress on her own can protect herself just fine without a Knight with her." He took a sip of his scotch. "No, what he is there for, as far as I can see, is to ground his Sorceress, to make sure that she isn't consumed or manipulated by her powers. Without her Knight, my daughter is vulnerable, Mr. Leonhart. You understand that, right?"

"If you're so worried, why not find her a new Knight to protect her." As far as I understood, he had done almost exactly that the first time, arranging for Croft... Almasy to meet his pretty doll of a daughter.

"She's... rather picky when it comes to men," was the general's reply. "All I ask from you is to keep this on the hush-hush. The fewer people know, the better." He drank the rest of his scotch and placed some crisp currency on the table. "For the drinks," he said as a way of explaining. "No doubt you'll be by my home tomorrow to ask your questions?" At my nod, his smile returned, a bit more rueful than before. "Well, I better get myself some sleep. Hope you do the same."

The general rose from his seat and made his way to the stairs and out of the bar. Not long after, the two off-duty soldiers followed after him. For a moment, I stared at his empty glass, the ice cubes inside still frozen and fresh from the freezer. The waitress came by with the two more glasses of scotch and gave me a confused, questioning look. I waved them down.

Sometimes a man could use a drink, especially when it was on another person's gil.


End file.
